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Chapter Forty-One

M aya

Early evening finds us parked behind an abandoned gas station just outside St. James, Missouri. We’re about an hour from Second Chance. The ancient flip phone glows as I study Laura’s latest message detailing the pharmaceutical companies’ blockade around Potosi.

“They’ve got every approach covered,” I tell Damian, showing him the crude map she’s drawn. “Fake police checkpoints on Highway 8 and 185.” I trace the highways with my finger. “Private security teams are watching the back roads, and drones are monitoring everything else. Like a noose tightening around the sanctuary.”

“How far out does their perimeter extend?” Even exhausted, his tactical mind never stops working.

“Laura thinks it’s about a two-mile radius from Potosi.” I zoom in on the map. “Laura says they’re especially heavy along the highways and…” My voice trails off as something catches my eye.

“What is it?”

“Look at this.” I point to an area where Laura’s marked old mining tunnels. “She says this area used to be called The Lead Belt—one of the oldest mining regions in Missouri. Some of these tunnels date back to the 1700s.”

My father leans forward from the back seat. “My friend Hal grew up around here. Talked about it until I thought my eyes would roll back in my head. He told stories about those mines. Whole network of tunnels running through Washington County. Some folks say you could travel for miles underground without ever surfacing.”

“Could they still be passable?” Damian’s forehead pleats in deep thought, as though he’s calculating the odds.

“Laura says she found recent maps of them—what’s passable, what’s not.” I read further into her message. “They’re marked on this map.”

“There’s an entrance point here.” I indicate a spot on the map. “About thirty miles from where we are now. If we can reach it before dawn…”

Damian studies the map with the focus of a man who once navigated the tunnels beneath Rome’s greatest arena. “How far underground?”

“Laura says it’s not a deep system—most tunnels are relatively close to the surface.”

Hours later, the truck rumbles at less than ten miles an hour along back roads choked with underbrush, a risk we accept since it’s within a two-mile radius of Potosi.

Once we reach the mine entrance, we conceal the vehicle beneath a thick pile of brush. It’s served its purpose in getting us this far. I’ll contact Joseph. I imagine one of his men will come retrieve it. From here, we travel light and quiet.

The mine entrance looks exactly as I imagined it, concealed behind decades of vegetation. To casual observers, it’s just another sealed shaft in a region full of mining history. But Damian’s capable hands find the hidden catches in the seemingly solid barrier, revealing the passage beyond.

“Wait.” I offload things from our packs until we’re carrying only what we need: flashlights, phone, water, a few nutrition bars, and the flash drive with my father’s evidence.

Just before we enter, Damian pulls me close. In the pre-dawn darkness, his eyes hold a fierce intensity that makes my breath catch.

“Whatever we find in these tunnels,” his tone is earnest, “whatever waits at the end of this path—know that meeting you has made every step worth taking.”

His kiss tastes of promise and destiny. When we part, I see my own determination reflected in his gaze. We’ve come too far to fail now.

The tunnel mouth yawns before us, dark as fate itself. But somewhere in that darkness lies a path to freedom. To family. To future.

Together, we step into the Earth’s embrace, leaving the watching skies behind.